


brushstrokes

by themysterytwins



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Keith, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Slow Burn, theyre dorks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:09:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7778998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themysterytwins/pseuds/themysterytwins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>keith is a painter. lance can barely hold a pencil without breaking it. keith paints masterpieces on the outsides of buildings and the undersides of stairs and any empty space he can, really. lance is infatuated with his art. he's drawn to it. keith hardly knows lance exists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi so i havent written in a /really/ long time but bam here is something

Studio smells consisted of drying clay, freshly opened paints, and linseed oil. Studio sounds consisted of the constant soft hum of the kiln, the gentle brush strokes coating a canvas, and the low music that was always played, changing from Mozart to Paramore to dubstep with each artist. 

Studio sights were constantly evolving; sometimes someone who was there for twenty four hours straight wouldn’t return for three weeks. Sometimes the easels would be smothered in canvases of yellows and greens and blues, and then in deep reds, blacks, and greys. Out of all this, Lance only found one thing important enough to remember. 

Keith Gyeong.

Keith was a painter. He worked in oils, his brushstrokes delicate and feathery but deliberate. With all the time he spent in the studio, all the cavasses he’d filled, it still seemed as though he was never satisfied. He always had to do one more sketch, one more color mixed, one more masterpiece. Or, this is how it was to the outside world. To Lance, every one of Keith’s paintings was a masterpiece. To Keith, they were all disappointments.

In the fall of his second year at school Keith began to paint on walls, on the undersides of the concrete stairs around campus, anywhere and everywhere. This was when Lance began to really notice. 

He noticed how Keith would sweep his bangs out of his eyes with a bobby pin, which he always seemed to have. He saw the way he would put his brush firmly against the pavement in exasperation and press his fingers to his temples. This would smear whatever color paint he’d been working with on the sides of his face. It’s not like Lance was watching Keith or anything. He just happened to see these things on his way to class, or when he wandered about the green. 

Lance had seen multiple pieces of Keith’s at the spring art show a few months back, mesmerized by the brushstrokes and colors. He had stood in front of them for a good twenty minutes, finding something new every time his eyes wandered the canvas. He hadn’t realized just whose work it was until he heard some seniors standing behind him murmuring. Lance had felt his ears reddening and quickly moved on to the next painting. 

Throughout the show Lance had looked for Keith in the crowd, planning to tell him how much he loved his work. But he wasn’t there. Lance had even asked around but nobody had seen him. That’s odd, Lance had thought. Not attending your own art show. Wouldn’t he want the praise? He dismissed the thought and headed for his dorm. 

\--

Lance was making his usual walk across the grass to the main building for his English seminar when he saw it. Art. On the concrete. He stopped, tilting his head to look at it. It wasn’t finished, and it wasn’t signed, either. But somehow, somehow Lance knew whose it was. He wanted to look at it forever. He probably looked lost standing there, headphones on, hands in his sweatshirt pocket, staring down at the concrete. 

He probably would’ve stayed longer, but he got a rapid stream of texts from Hunk to the tune of “the seminar is about to start if ur still in bed im gonna drag u out there myself,” and “lance 4 real where tf are u,” and “LANCE U FUCKING MORON ITS STARTIGN!!!!!” He made his way to the seminar and arrived on time, but he couldn’t say he listened much to the lecture. His mind was somewhat preoccupied. Lance then made the decision to visit the studio after class. 

He wasn’t quite sure what made him go, but his mind tugged at him to do so, and he complied. He rarely stopped by the studio on purpose. Lance himself could barely hold a pencil without snapping it in two, and his artistic abilities were the likes of stick figures. 

Prying open the barn doors of the building he poked his head inside, almost disappointed to find it deserted. Nobody was there. Oddly, Lance felt his heart sink a little. He was about to close the door back and head to pick up a bite to eat when he jumped at the sound of clattering of wood and ruffling of papers. A muttered profanity echoed from a corner of the room. 

“Uh, hello? You okay?” Lance shouted warily into the space. His response was a groan and more clattering. Lance stepped inside, waiting for more of a reply, if he’d get one at all. 

Then, from out of a corner that Lance hadn’t been able to see in before was Keith Gyeong. Dark paints smeared on his bare arms and dotted the black tank top that hung loosely on his frame. He ran his fingers through his complete mess of hair and then reached for a cup of coffee to his side, all without taking his eyes of Lance. Honestly, Keith looked like a mess. An emo mess. Lance swore he heard My Chemical Romance or something like that playing softly from somewhere, and the bags under Keith’s eyes made him look a bit intimidating. 

Lance clutched the messenger bag at his side. Keith seemed utterly unimpressed, or maybe he was just tired. Or a mixture of both.

“Are you alright in there? I heard a-” Lance was cut off by Keith waving a hand.

“Yeah. Fine.” He said gruffly, turning to trudge back to whatever he was working on. Lance didn’t expect to stop him, but his mouth thought otherwise. 

“Wait!” He called, extending a hand. Keith turned halfway back to face him, hair falling in his eyes.

“Why are you still here? Leave already.” He shot, and Lance’s face felt hot. Wherever this nerve was coming from, Lance certainly did not plan it.

“That was yours right? In the street?” Lance saw Keith tense and begin to fidget with his shirt hem, but he continued to look at the ground. “I know it was,” Lance continued. He didn’t know Keith, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to, but something in him couldn’t bring himself to just walk away. 

“How did you know?” Keith’s voice sounded almost surprised, like he couldn’t fathom someone would actually recognize his work. 

“Brushstrokes.” He replied simply. Keith turned to face Lance, brows furrowed, looking him directly in the eyes. He pointed a finger to his own chest. 

“Mine? You can distinguish my brushstrokes?” 

“Well, yeah, I guess so, I mean I saw your art at all the shows so…”

“Yeah but? Brushstrokes?”

“Dude, chill. I like your art is all.” The two boys stood in silence for a moment. What even was happening? A blossoming friendship? Or would Lance and Keith never speak a word to each other again?

“Thanks.” Keith finally said, his words mumbled barely above a whisper. Lance checked his watch. It was one thirty. He probably should get lunch now, and he felt he’d overstayed his welcome at the studio. 

“Alright, um, nice talk, I’m gonna go get lunch now so, uh, bye, I guess.” Lance didn’t really know how to end this so he just walked out the studio door.

“Turkey and cheese.” Keith yelled from back inside the studio.

“Excuse me?!” Lance called back, turning to see Keith propped against the door.

“Get me a sandwich.” He said bluntly.

“Get your own sandwich!” Lance retorted. Who did Keith think he was?

“I’ll pay you back, dumbass.” He looked to the ground. “Please.” Lance knew the tone of Keith’s voice only changed so he could get what he wanted. Lance let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Fine.” He said, back to the studio. He pulled his bag higher up on his shoulder and went to go get lunch for himself. And Keith.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW okay so i got a stunning response very quickly on this ??? thank u ??? now i have to finish this orz 
> 
> oh also sorry for the cursing i guess im letting my Teen Angst go wild on this one
> 
> another note i dont know how to do italics on ao3 so dont kill me im sorru

They ate their sandwiches in silence, mostly. They were sat on the grassy area behind the studio, sitting cross-legged and staring down at the ground. This was awkward. Lance kept flicking his eyes up to sneak a glance at Keith. He wasn’t really sure why he kept doing this, because Keith seemed to be concentrating hard on a particular blade of grass at his feet.

Lance really wanted to say something. That was polite right? Or were they supposed to be like this? They weren’t exactly friends, and frankly Lance wasn’t sure Keith even knew his name, but the fact that Keith called out after him must have meant something. 

Keith is the one who speaks first. 

“Peanut butter and jelly is gross.” He says, gesturing to Lance’s sandwich choice. 

“Hey!” Lance says, jokingly hurt. He shoves Keith’s leg with his foot. “At least I won’t die from eating paint off my hands.”

Keith looks at his fingers. He does have a lot of paint on his hands. 

“So,” Lance starts, cautiously. “What have you been painting?” 

Keith sort of grunts and turns away from Lance to face the studio; it’s obviously a touchy subject.

“Nothing. It’s all shit.” He takes a bite of his sandwich. “Nothing’s coming out right.”

Lance doesn’t really know anything about art, so he furrows his brow and lets the other boy continue.

“See, like, everything I paint just looks, blah, you know? I have no real drive to paint anyone or anything and it’s so gross.” He pauses. “I don’t even have anything for the art show.” Keith says this last part quieter, like he’s ashamed of it.

Lance wonders if he had someone to paint before, someone he cared about. He doesn’t really know how to respond now. Does he say something along the lines of ‘it’ll get better’ or ‘you can do it’?

Instead, he blurts out, “You can paint me.”

Keith tilts his head back to raise his eyebrows at Lance. He laughs. “You’re joking,” he says, leaning back and propping himself up with his non-sandwich-occupied hand. Lance sorta kinda maybe catches himself looking at the strip of pale skin on Keith’s stomach where his shirt has ridden up. He slaps himself mentally. What was wrong with him?

“I’m not. Also, I’m super hot, so all your paintings will be really good.”  


Keith throws grass at him. “The only thing you are is stupid.”

 

After lunch, Keith tells him to come back when he’s finished with classes.

“First I buy you lunch, now I’m skipping homework for you? I have a geography paper due you know,” Lance scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Lance.” Keith pleads, drawing out the last letter. Fuck. Okay. 

“Fine,” he gives him, shooting a glare at Keith. “See ya in a few hours, I guess.”

Lance can’t really concentrate through the rest of his classes. So he does know who I am, he thinks, absentmindedly tapping the corner of his desk. His phone buzzes in his pocket. 

from: shiro [muscle emoji] [clap emoji] [tongue out emoji]  
Hey Lance are you free tonight Pidge and Hunk and I were gonna go out to eat

He moved his phone under his desk to discreetly reply.  
no, sorry dude im doing something later

Another buzz.  
OOOOH [water droplet emoji] who who who is he cute do we know him

Lance rolls his eyes.  
someTHING not someONE jackass

He put his phone back in his sweatshirt pocket and tried to focus on the lesson.

 

It was dusk when Lance started heading back to the studio. He had to admit, there was the slightest bit of flutter in his chest. He reassured himself it was because he had a new cool friend. It’s totally normal to notice every detail about how a guy carries himself and the way his hair makes those little curls on the back of his neck and how delicate his fingers are (artist’s hands) and-

Lance’s train of thought was broken as he tripped over a rock. Stupid legs, he thought, hiking his bag higher up on his shoulder.

The studio was silent as Lance approached the door. Lavender light poured in from a skylight, illuminating six windowpane-shaped squares on the floor. The studio was washed in an almost dreamy glow, water glistening in glasses next to closed watercolors and the soft warmth of the lanterns casting light shadows everywhere. Lance felt a little sleepy.

Keith appeared out of the back room, towelling his hands dry. He noticed Lance immediately, standing out of place in the centre of the room. He acknowledged him with a slight dip of his head and then walked back over to his easel. 

A canvas was propped on it, blank, but with obvious marks where pencil scratches had been erased multiple times. Keith plopped down on the stool and looked expectantly back at Lance. 

“I can’t draw you from over there,” Keith said, twirling his pencil between his fingers. Lance blushed slightly and came to stand a bit away from the canvas, setting his bag down. This was strangely intimate in a way that Lance hadn’t planned for.

“Do you want me to, like, pose, or something…” Lance questioned, his face flushing. Why had he ever suggested this? 

Keith bit his lip, flicking his eyes from the canvas to Lance and back to the canvas. 

“Take your shirt off,” He orders. Lance’s eyes go wide.

“Excuse me?!” He can feel a blush creeping up the back of his neck. He wasn’t going to just strip for some guy he’d only really met that day. 

“Shirt,” Keith motioned, “off.” 

Lance sighed, shifted his weight from foot to foot and then complied, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. He knew his reddening skin was visible and the source of Keith’s stifled laugh. 

“Can you move your arm like that? Yeah, no, a little over, yeah, okay,” Keith directed his movements and Lance followed wordlessly. He relaxed a little and accepted the fact that yes, this was happening and he had 100% brought it on himself.

After a while his limbs began to hurt but one glance at how concentrated Keith looked told him to keep still. His bangs fell messily in his eyes, and occasionally he blew them away. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and he ran his top teeth along his bottom lip. The sun had gone down, and pale moonlight streaked across his face, illuminating otherwise invisible freckles dotting his cheeks and nose. 

“Hey,” Keith snapped his fingers, regaining Lance’s attention. “Stop looking at me. Turn your head back how it was.”

Lance recoiled from the sudden noise, but did as he was told. He felt oddly aware, like all his senses were heightened. The night air mixed with the smell of opened paints and sweat and Lance swore he could hear the scratching of Keith’s pencil.

“Okay,” Keith breathed after what seemed like hours. Lance hesitated before moving, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. He stood behind the other and looked at the canvas. His eyes strained a bit in the dim light but the sketch was definitely him and definitely amazing.

“Shit, Keith, you’re so talented,” Lance trailed, eyes moving over the work. For a moment Keith almost seemed flustered at the compliment, but he quickly regained composure, scratching the back of his head and mumbling a ‘yeah.’

Keith stood up and vanished into the back room. Lance stood awkwardly for a minute before putting his shirt and sweatshirt back on and collecting his things from the floor. He patted his pocket for his phone, and looked down in confusion when it wasn’t there. He crouched down to look over the floor, and beside the easel, and under pieces of paper laying around. 

When he stood, Keith was leaning against the wall, Lance’s phone in hand.

“How did you get that?” Lance said, bewildered. “Give it back,” he ordered, approaching the shorter boy. He could easily wrangle it from his hands, stop whatever he was doing. Keith smirked and pressed a few last keys before handing it over.

Lance took it and shoved it in his pocket, waving a quick goodbye and putting up his hood. Whatever bliss had happened in the time Keith sketched Lance had been abruptly broken, but oddly Lance felt content as he walked blindly across the grass.

He crashed when he entered his dorm. Luckily Shiro was still out, and Lance could pull off his shoes and flop down on his mattress in peace. Lance suddenly felt the weight of sleep droop his eyes, but he pulled out his phone instead of shutting them. The contacts app was still open, and one new one had been added. The name was a simple ‘k’ along with a number and a note that said ‘pb+j sux.’ Lance sighed, the corners of his mouth tipping slightly upward. 

He had a feeling he’d be seeing Keith again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again thank u all for readin and commenting it rly means a lot ˭̡̞(◞⁎˃ᆺ˂)◞*✰
> 
> also note keith's last name credit goes 100% to the wonderfully talented @gibslythe thank u mother


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow!! an update!! im so so sorry tht i havent been workin on this as much ,, school began so i've been pretty busy but i promise to keep writing!! i hope u all like this new chapter and as always comments r super appreciated n they always make my day! U ´ᴥ` U

A week, maybe two, passed before Lance’s phone buzzed with Keith’s name again. He peered over the screen, flicking his eyes across the words. He inhaled slightly, catching his breath.

from: k  
come by the studio today, 8pm

Why so late? Lance wondered absently, tapping at the keypad. 

Why?

Another buzz.

i want to paint you

Lance’s heart caught in his throat. He picked nervously at the edge of his phone case before responding.

Okay.

He set his phone down and looked from the clock (it was half three) to outside his dorm window. Students flushed out of a building across the green. Lance watched the crowd scurry about, groups huddled together chatting, friends finding each other after class, ‘Didn’t you think that was tricky?’ and ‘I hate Dr. Matthews,’ carried in the air.  
Lance was about to tear his eyes away when he spotted a certain someone in a black hoodie and ripped jeans, solitarily making his way across the grass. For some reason, Lance’s face flushed. He cleared his throat and stood, just as the handle of the door began to rattle.

Shiro walked through the door, smiling and holding ramen in one hand and a girl’s hand in the other. Lance tried to place who she was as he stood beside his bed awkwardly, fiddling with his thumbs. Had she come home with Shiro before? Lance felt sort of bad for not remembering. 

“Hey Lance! This is Gabrielle. She’s a chemistry major,” He said the latter slightly proudly, like he wanted to show off that he finally had a girlfriend that wasn’t a complete dumbass. Shiro was known for poor choice in girls.

Gabrielle was short, especially compared to Shiro, but she was thin and she had long, dark hair that was tucked into a high bun on the top of her head. Her skin was caramel-ly and dotted with freckles like stars. Lance’s mind wandered to the freckles across Keith’s cheeks. He snapped himself back to Gabrielle. She was really beautiful, he considered, giving her a small smile back.

Shiro bent down to kiss her on the forehead, and Lance felt as if he had to look away; as if he was intruding on something he wasn’t invited to. 

“Don’t be such a middle schooler, Lance,” Shiro teased, noticing his embarrassment.

“I’m not!” Lance retorted. He pushed past Shiro to the kitchen, getting the coffee grounds and filter out of the cabinet.

“Gabrielle-coffee?” He motioned to the coffee maker. She accepted his offer, telling him she took his coffee with two milks and a sugar. He thought about all the people he normally made coffee for, and how they took it. Shiro took his black, Pidge took theirs with four milks, no sugar, and Hunk took his with two sugars. He took his own with a milk and as he poured Gabrielle her cup he wondered how Keith took his coffee. 

What was up with him today? Ever since Keith’s text he was all Lance could focus on. It was just the slight nervousness of being painted, Lance persuaded himself. Yeah. That’s it. 

Lance brought Gabrielle’s coffee to her on the couch, where her and Shiro had plopped down and put on a movie. It was some sappy chick flick, the kind Shiro loved to death. Lance recognized the opening title at once. 

“Shiro,” He groaned, “Please, god, I do not care about Regina George anymore and I don’t think I can take that jingle bells scene one more time.” He hit Shiro on the back of the head with a pillow.

“How do you put up with this day in and day out?!” Gabrielle giggled and fake-whispered to Lance. 

“I don’t.” The two were laughing, Shiro trying to justify his movie choices. Lance rounded the corner and climbed into his bed, grabbing his phone on the way.

He pulled his knees to his chest and sat there, covers laying misshapen around him, balancing his coffee on his knee. His favorite mug, the one that changed to constellations when hot liquid was poured into it, made him smile. He felt a rush of happiness very abruptly; the tv playing softly in the background, Shiro and Gabrielle’s voices soothingly calm and relaxed, laughing every so often, the smell of fresh coffee wafting through the dorm.

Lance unlocked his phone, looking at the conversation between he and Keith again. He hesitated over the keyboard before changing his mind and closing messages. Instead he opened a rhythm game and tapped away, content.

The sun began to set and though it was still just early September, the cold of the dorm seeped into Lance’s bones. He muttered something about Shiro remembering to pay the bills and yanked a sweatshirt from the closet, the one with the Spirited Away design. Then he changed it. What if Keith thought he was a big nerd? (Which he was, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to disclose this information with Keith quite yet.) He put on the one with the college logo and looked in the mirror, sighing. Lance changed back into the Spirited Away sweatshirt. It was just Keith. Who was there to impress? 

This time was not too different from the last. Keith pulling his hair into a loose bun, sitting on a stool in front of a canvas, pencil twirled between his fingers. Lance standing in the awkward silence before Keith decided which way to pull Lance’s limbs into a pose. There was less tension in the air, and Lance breathed a silent sigh of relief. He didn’t ask to take his shirt off. 

Instead, Keith stood, moving closer to Lance and resting his hands on his shoulders. The touch was soft, but also made it impossible for Lance to break eye contact, their faces a bit too close for comfort. Startled by the action, Lance jumped slightly, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

Keith blinked slowly, his eyes moving over the other boy’s face. Lance could almost see the gears turning and working in his brain, planning and calculating, sparking flames in his pale eyes. He felt a twinge of jealousy-wishing his mind worked as magically as Keith’s did. Lance swallowed, turning his head to the side and laughing gently, wondering how this must look to someone on the outside. This movement resulted in Keith furrowing his brows and reaching a hand to Lance’s jaw to reset his original position. 

The expression on Keith’s face was something Lance couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t joy, or anger, or disappointment, or a mix of the three. It was something entirely new and different, and Lance couldn’t remember a time when someone had looked at him like this. The soft pads of Keith’s fingers brushed across his jawline,  
Then the moment was broken, Keith dropped his hand and turned his back to Lance in silence. He mumbled something incoherent and sat back before the canvas.

“Okay,” he muttered, a tone of harshness coating his voice. “Can you just stand closer? Like here,” He directed, pointing at the ground barely two feet in front of him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance complied, clearing his throat. He pulled his sweatshirt closer in around his neck, suddenly feeling the cold again. 

Lance pulled a chair from another station and sat, looking down at his clasped hands. 

“Hey,” Keith interjected suddenly, causing Lance to snap his eyes up to meet his. 

“Stay like that, how you were before.” He tilted his head to face Lance more fully. They exchanged some sort of understanding and Keith began to sketch.

\--

It took shorter this time, the sketching. Lance almost missed the rough pattern of the pencil tracing over the canvas when it stopped. Keith got up and headed to the back room, returning momentarily with paints and brushes piled in his arms and a palate balanced on top of that. Lance began to get up, knowing he couldn’t be of use anymore and began to leave. What was the purpose of exchanging any words? It isn't like they'd hung out. It was just out of convenience they were together. 

“Stay,” Keith said firmly, grabbing the sleeve of Lance’s sweatshirt. 

This time he didn’t look at him, just down at his hand clutching the heavy fabric. Lance blinked at Keith, relaxing his shoulders and letting his lips curl upwards ever so slightly. 

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes lance was playing love live


End file.
